Megadoom IV: Saving Private Blasto
by Santuh Klozzy
Summary: Four marines. Two objectives: 1: Enter Hell, locate Private Blasto, and escort him to the extraction point. 2: Perpetrate extreme prejudice against the Prince of Darkness and his army.
1. Chapter ONE

**MEGADOOM IV:**

**Saving Private Blasto**

_John Carmack and that other guy made Doom, not me. But I did stay at a Motel 6 last night. They kept the light on for me and it kept the demons of hell away. True story._

_And oh yeah, this story contains graphic depictions of violence, blood, gore, and also contains excessive swearing._

_And oh yeah again, feedback is greatly appreciated. And read some of my other stories. They're just grand._

XXX

U.S.S. Conscientious Objector_ in orbit above Earth_

_23:46 hours_

Fleet Admiral Cartwright slammed his fist against his desk. How the hell many times was this going to happen? It really pissed him off how this always seemed to happen. How His Royal Self the Prince of Darkness always seemed to become, despite their "peace talks," His Royal Wanker-Self the Prince of Wanking-in-the-Darkness.

"Another team gone? How in fuck's name does that happen?" he growled towards his guest, the esteemed Admiral Hardingsfoyle.

Hardingsfoyle just shrugged, unable to produce what he thought would be an appropriate answer.

Cartwright slammed his fist down again. The Prince of Darkness was always getting on his nerves. First, he had invaded Mars station for no reason. Cartwright had wanted to give His Royal Highness the benefit of the doubt. Sure, he had heard things about how terribly evil he was, but he didn't want to assume. But after the Mars Station Incident years back, he realized just how much that unholy wanker was just a jerk.

After that little "misunderstanding", as Wank-Master General had called it, the United States of Earth had slapped some tough sanctions on Hell. They found the cure for immortality, and made everyone drink an elixir of invincibility, and thus Maestro downstairs didn't get no fresh souls, boo-hoo, the son-of-bitch had it coming.

And now he had kidnapped a patrol detail that was making the rounds of Mars Station. Once again, that fucker had overstepped his bounds. There were two privates-first-class that were on patrol, and one of them, Irving Crinkleberry, was killed in the ensuing action. The other private, Christopher Blasto, was taken a prisoner by several very nasty hellspawn.

"Goddamn him," Cartwright muttered.

"That'd be a redundant action," Hardingsfoyle informed him. "After all, he is in--"

"Shut up, I know, I was venting my frustrations." Cartwright sighed and eased himself into a comfy black leather chair behind his desk. "Well shit," he continued, "unless something is done, this is going to mean full-scale war between Earth and Hell, and we all know where that'll lead: conscription. Which I ain't got a problem with, except for that means college enrollment will go up, which will lead to more educated kids. Bah, if there's one thing I can't stand, it's educated kids."

"But, sir," Hardingsfoyle began timidly, "if the whole human race is invincible, in theory we'd only need an old woman armed with a butter knife to win."

"But sir, Hardingsfoyle, therein lies the rub. We're only invincible and immortal so long as we stay on Earth. Once we leave this good land, we become… mortal."

"So… let's not leave Earth?"

"But what if he takes Mars Station?" Cartwright demanded.

Hardingsfoyle looked shyly around. "Well, suppose we could just concede him the station and call it good?" He cringed when Cartwright banged his hand on his desk again and stood up.

"Damn it, no man. We can't concede one micro-inch of our rightful space to that Overlord of Eternal Suffering. Anyone who makes terrorizing attacks, like when children dream about demons, is considered a terrorist! And we don't negotiate with terrorists," he spat bitterly.

"But, sir, what's the harm in a dream?"

"Mental warfare," said Cartwright in anger as he sat down again. "No, we need to save this Private Blasto, and assassinate the Overlord of Eternal Wanking forever!"

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"Okay," said Hardingsfoyle. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

"By recruiting the one man who has ever successfully entered the fiery flames of the Lake of Fire and returned: Barry."

"Barry sir? What's his last name?"

"He ain't got one!" Cartwright said. "And damn it, man, damn it. No one has seen him in years. He went into the Witness Protection Program after the Mars Station Incident, so that the Wanker Chief wouldn't find him. Unfortunately, his cover was blown when some idiot went on the news and leaked his real name. When he realized that he was in danger of retaliation from foreign governments, namely Hell itself, he started living off the grid, and no one has been able to track him."

"Well… uh… we'll get on," Hardingsfoyle said, and showed himself out.

XXX

_Somewhere in Appalachia, Earth_

_Sometime around four-ish_

The cold Appalachian winds chilled Agents Goode and Stone to the bones, but soon they wouldn't have to endure it much longer. They had found their target: a small wood house tucked deep in to the hills of Appalachia. On it's front porch, an old man and an even older golden retriever sat in placid contentment: the old man in his rocking chair, and dog laying on the front steps, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. The man was old looking, perhaps in his mid to late sixties. He had a long gray beard which flowed to his waist. He wore gray-patchwork overalls, and no shirt underneath. He had on a straw hat, and peculiar round purple shades.

As the two agents approached, the old dog got up and barked, and then suffered a heart attack and fell over dead. The man didn't seem to notice it had died. He stood up.

"Rowdy, where'd you go to boy? Rowdy!" he called in a wheezy voice. "Oh, dangnabit, he's run off again. Oh well. He'll come back. He always does." He heard a porch step creak as Agent Goode began to ascend up onto the porch.

"Whose there?" asked the old man, looking slowly back and forth. "I warn you-- I'm armed!" He reached over next to his rocking chair and pulled up a cane.

"My name is Truman Goode, and I am here on official government business. With me is my partner, Rowling Stone." They decided not to bow, seeing as this old man was blind. But there was no way this could be the man they were sent to retrieve.

"Whaddyoo want?" croaked the old man. "Gosh-durn government. Why, back in my day, I was the government! Leastways I worked for 'em anyhoots."

"Listen, Grandpa," began Stone hotly.

"Johnny boy, is that you?" asked the old man wheezily. "Come give your grandpa a hug!" And he moved slowly, feebly over to one of the roof supports and hugged it. Stone and Goode gave each other sidelong glances.

"Is your name Barry?" Goode asked, getting straight to the point, staring fixedly as the old man scooped the roof support.

"What? Oh yes, but I haven't been called that in years," Barry said brightly. "Old Rowdy just kept calling me woof. Strange dog. I'd introduce you, but he seems to have wandered off."

"Can we go inside? We have much we need to talk about," Stone said detachedly.

"Of course," said Barry, taking his arms from around the roof support, and with his cane began to guide himself towards the door. But as he tapped it against the wood of the deck, the tip found the dead body of Rowdy. Barry gave it a few good pokes.

"Hm… it seems as though something crawled onto my porch and died," he observed. "Must be a wild skunk. They always seem to be dying. We'll, let's get inside. We're burning daylight."

Over the next ten minutes, he wandered around his deck looking for the front door. When he found it, he led the two Agents inside.

Inside wasn't much. It was one room, with and adjoined bathroom and kitchen. It had a bed, a furnace, and barrel with two crates placed next to it like chairs. On top of the barrel was a checkerboard.

"I always play red," said Barry fondly of his favorite game. Stone eyed the number of pieces. Apparently, Rowdy had won the last game.

"Barry, let's get straight down to business," Goode said, sitting on top of one of the crates. "We are from the government. We know about your past. We know you were involved in the Mars Station Incident all those years ago. We need your help now."

"That was a long time ago," said Barry, sitting down on the metal plate that was on top of the furnace. "I don't play guns anymore - I play banjo," he said, pulling a banjo up and striking up a tune.

"Yes, that's great and all," Stone interrupted the theme from _Deliverance_, "but we need your help. The Prince of Darkness has taken a prisoner of war, and Fleet Admiral Cartwright is creating a special team to save this Private and assassinate the aforementioned Lord of Darkness. Your participation is… required."

"Is it getting hot in here?" asked Barry as steam wafted up from underneath him. "And it smells like bacon. Maybe I started some in the kitchen." He got up and walked into the kitchen, revealing the place, right smack-dab in center of his rear, where the heat from the furnace had burned his overalls and fried his skin, which continued to smoke a little.

Stone and Goode both sighed in unison.

Private First Class Christopher Blasto was, in military terms, officially fucked hardcore.


	2. Chapter TWO

**MEGADOOM 4:**

**Saving Private Blasto**

**Chapter TWO**

XXX

_**Author's Note: **Yeah yeah yeah. I don't own any Doom material. I do own your soul, however._

XXX

_Outer Space_

_1821 hours_

A small shuttle glided silently through the silence of space. It was manned by only two men: a pilot and Barry. The old man sat staring blankly at a wall, like someone staring through a window. The pilot looked over at him. Was this the man Cartwright really wanted to recruit? How was he going to get into Hell and rescue Private Blasto? How the hell did he know any of this since it was all top secret and he was just a pathetic little shuttlepod pilot? He shook his head and turned back to the window in front of him.

"Holy shit!" he swore aloud, pulling hard on the controls. He hadn't kept his eyes ahead of him and they had nearly flown into the _U.S.S. Conscientious Objector._ He just managed to pull the shuttlepod away at the last second before they would have been blown to bits. A voice crackled in over the radio.

"Um… shuttlepod 7, this is hangar control. May I ask just what the fucking shit you're trying to pull out there?"

"Sorry, I… uh…" The pilot turned the radio off. Stupid jackass.

He flew the shuttle deftly into the hangar.

"Here we are gramps," the pilot said, flipping a switch, which in turn opened the door our from the shuttle.

"Thank you young man," said Barry as he departed. As he was walking through the threshold of the doorway, he bumped into the hangar control operator, who was on his way to investigate the pilot's mysterious behavior.

"Out of my way old timer!" he said rudely, pushing Barry roughly aside, and made his way to the cockpit. "What was up with that crap outside?" he demanded of the pilot. "Are you insane? You nearly flew straight into the crew quarters, where there are innocent women and children! I'll have your balls for this!"

The pilot said nothing, but pulled up a pistol and shot the hanger control operator. He pressed the same switch he had moments earlier, and the door slid shot. The shuttle then hovered into the air, left the _U.S.S. Conscientious Objector, _and flew off into the mysterious unknowns of deep space.

Barry just got to his feet. A security detail entered the hanger from a nearby door to welcome him.

"Sir," said the commander, saluting Barry. "We're here to escort you to the Admiral, sir."

"Oh thank you," commented Barry in his typical wheezy voice. "Take me to your leader."

"Uh, we were just going to do that," replied the commander. He knew old people were slow on the uptake, but he wanted to maintain his courtesy to Barry. After all, he was the very first marine to fight Hell single-handedly, and he could still probably own any of these young punks' asses.

Two security officers stepped forwards and placed their hands on Barry's elbows and led him from the hanger, down several hallways, up some stairs, down some stairs, down some more halls, past a scene where a fight had broken out between marines and invading aliens from Dimension X, up some more stairs, past the temporal anomaly, down some more halls, took an elevator up several decks, and finally into Admiral Cartwright's office.

"Ah, Barry, there you are," said Cartwright as Barry was led in. "Glad you could make it."

"Admiral," said Barry, a tone of bitterness in his voice, and the security officers immediately got the impression that there was some past bitterness between these two, and that this was foreshadowing for some no doubt important event in the future.

"Please, have a seat," said Admiral Cartwright, leading Barry over to a place where there was no chair.

"You know me, Clyde, I prefer to stand," Barry croaked coldly.

"Bullshit you do, not at your age. Now sit the fuck down you, you wrinkled withered up old dick," barked the admiral, and Barry obediently sat down. Only there was no chair, and he fell on his ass on the hard steel floor. The Admiral howled with laughter.

"That wasn't very nice," said one security guard, and Cartwright ordered them to get out immediately and go make peace with some primordial alien life form.

As the security detail was leaving, three more figures entered the room, and sat in chairs facing Admiral Cartwright.

"Now, Barry," said Cartwright, as Barry stood up, rubbing his sore rear end. "I'm going to apprise you of the situation. A young private named Christopher Blasto has recently been taken prisoner by the forces of Hell. You have been conscripted to enter enemy territory and get him back, due obviously to your… background in dealing with demons. Do I make myself clear?"

"I don't fight no more," Barry declared. "I just play banjo and play with my dog Rowdy. Such a good pooch."

"I don't give a damn 'bout your pooch," thundered Cartwright. "You are on a government mission. Your country, hell the whole damn planet needs you."

"But… but…" stammered Barry, feeling around for a chair. He found one and sat down. "I can't even hold a gun steady anymore. Instead of me, how's about you--"

"How's about you get off my lap?" asked a seductive female voice, and Barry realized he had sat down on top of one of the people who had entered the room.

"Aahh-hhh!" he cried, jumping to his feet, turning around, and bowing. "Begging your pardon, young miss. I didn't see you there."

"Obviously," the woman said. "But I'll forgive you, seeing as you're blind."

"Barry, let me introduce you to your team," said Cartwright. "Since you can't see, I'll describe them in great detail for you."

"The woman you just sat on is named Sophia Parley. She's a young, attractive French woman with a fine curves, light brown hair, luscious red lips, and as you just heard, a silky, sensual voice. She's your stealth expert of the team, though she didn't avoid my detection. Rowrr," he growled.

"Next on the team is Tang Chung, a small bodied Chinese man. But don't let his diminutive stature deceive you - he is the greatest hacker that has ever lived. If you have any computer systems you need broken into, he's your go-to guy.

"And finally is Roy O'Rourke, the demolition man. He's dashingly handsome, with piercing eyes and a full set of pearly white teeth. If you need something blown up, or someone seduced into giving you information, he's your man."

"Now," continued Admiral Cartwright, "we have a plan for you. Mars Station has been evacuated. You will be sent by shuttle there, and progress to Delta Lab. Hell has not come forth, so getting there should be a cake walk.

"Once you are in Delta Lab, you have two goals: the first is to enter hell, locate Private Blasto, and escort him to the extraction point back at the landing zone, where the shuttle will be waiting for you. The second goal is to perpetrate extreme prejudice against the Prince of Darkness and his army. Once you have iced the thorn in our side, you are to exit hell and close the portal forever. Any questions?"

The four team members shook their heads.

"Good. Once you set foot aboard Mars Station, we will maintain a strict radio silence. Alright, Hardingsfoyle!"

Immediately Admiral Hardingsfoyle entered the room.

"Admiral," said Cartwright, "suit up the team. Then take them to the shuttle bay."

"Okey dokey," said Hardingsfoyle, and ushered the team members out of the room.

XXX

Hardingsfoyle led them away from Cartwright's office and into the armory.

"Go to town," he said after handing each the standard marine fatigues and steel breastplates.

"Bring me a flashlight and a shotgun," Barry said as he was getting changed. (As he got older, Barry lost much of his modesty.)

"Uh… right." Hardingsfoyle collected the items Barry requested and brought them to the old man. "H-here you go."

"Thank you," wheezed Barry, who stuck the flashlight on his utility belt, and held the shotgun in his hands.

Meanwhile, Roy outfitted himself with dozens of grenades, mines, a rocket launcher, extra rockets, and a machine gun. Tang took two standard-issue pistols and a chainsaw, and Sophia took a minigun and a BFG.

"Some stealth expert," Roy scoffed, and she just glared at him.

XXX

In the docking bay, the pilot glided shuttlepod 7 back into place. Hopefully no one noticed he had been gone. The door on the side of the shuttle opened, and a scantily-clad, green-skinned alien with tentacles growing out of her head stepped out the door.

"Thanks honey," said the pilot, as he handed her a roll of cash, which she stuck down her shirt.

"No problem big guy," she said. "Just give me a call if you ever want another ride." With a wink, she was off. As she was walking through the door to the outside hallway, she passed a group of marines. They always paid well.

"Howdy boys," she said, and kept walking.

Roy looked after her, and began to leave the group, but Hardingsfoyle grabbed him by the collar and dragged him over to shuttlepod 7.

As they were climbing aboard, the Admiral addressed the group.

"I don't think I need to tell you all that the fragile peace of our world rests in your hands. If you fail to assassinate, well you know, then I shudder to think what would happen to earth's interests, I mean people," he added hastily, "if you fail. Good luck to all of you."

The shuttlepod doors closed.

"Hang on," said the pilot, as he lifted the shuttle gracefully into the air. It glided silently across the steel deck of the hangar, and out into the emptiness of space.


End file.
